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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22657576">A Sorry Understanding</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookieluv246/pseuds/historiCthrenody'>historiCthrenody (Cookieluv246)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Homestuck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cute, Dream Bubbles (Homestuck), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, John's so hot everyone is screaming, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overdosing, References to Drugs, a little spooky too, damn this is cute, john thinks he looks like ratatoulie, john's so cute, meanwhile he be looking like a snACK, the top is the crybaby</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 14:56:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,455</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22657576</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookieluv246/pseuds/historiCthrenody</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You breathe out, as a lingering sting follows the trails of your bandaged thumbs.</p><p>You don’t get what you’re looking at, as you try to think back on the last time you saw bug bites this bad, that make you almost look like you’re dying.</p><p>You don’t get what you’re looking at, when you feel tears stream down your eyes.</p><p>You don’t get it.</p><p>Maybe it’s time to start looking for a new place to live.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Egbert/John Egbert</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So i made this based off of my two favorite john muses im currently am writing for, and started shipping them by accident. lots of little things in this, i hope you like it! its pretty crack. One john's from henioustuck, and the other's just a normal non sburb au. happy reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Your eyes open.</p><p>What was once a dark room, with dark lights, and a broken heater, is now a grey box. But it’s bright. It’s bright, and you’ve never been anywhere quite this broad before in your life, but you don’t feel very out in the open, despite how inarguably open this is.</p><p>You don’t see daylight, but it’s not the grey you’re used to, and it’s not gloomy. It’s bright.</p><p>And you’re surprisingly calm.</p><p>But calm doesn’t mean that you’re safe.</p><p>You start walking, noticing that the grey shifts and turns, but you see no clouds, you just see odd shapes and caricatures. There’s no wind, and no end in sight. You just keep moving in one direction, hoping to meet a destination, yet unsure if one ever existed to begin with.</p><p>The ground starts to change into something more solid, granite. Still grey, but it’s a little more interesting to look at. You also start to catch sign of mist, which covers the surrounding areas even more, despite them barely having any noticeable features to cover at all.</p><p>You take several more steps, before the mist begins to clear, and you spot someone sitting down.</p><p>“Hey.” You call out, taking several more paces towards them, until you catch sight of something.</p><p>Odd.</p><p>He turns to face you, but you stare at a strangely clean reflection. No scars on his cheek, or dirt across his eyes. His nose perfectly up turned, and his lips only barely chapped. </p><p>He’s wearing normal clothes that you would honestly kill for. He looks bright, yet little more colorful than your surroundings. </p><p>You take a bit of pause, scrunching your face at where you must be.</p><p>“What exactly am I looking at here?” You ask, but not much in the tone of a question.</p><p>You move a bit closer to him, but he fails to meet your eyes very well. He instead shrugs, arms across his legs, as he continues looking at the ground.</p><p>“You tell me.”</p><p>“You a weird part of my subconscious?” You say, sitting down, at a lost for words as you just stare at him. You’re mesmerized by how boyish he looks. A lot fuller than you are, not so much in muscle, but in girth. He’s lighter than you are, eyes a bright blue that you hardly would consider to belong to yourself. You always wear contacts nowadays, you forget your natural colors. You haven’t seen so much color on your person since you looked at yourself with blood on your hands.</p><p>But here’s this guy, that looks so weirdly ‘normal.’ All American, brunette boy, wearing a plaid dark blue cami, with cut out jeans. Like something you could see in a magazine, like a teenager. He doesn’t look smaller than you, but you feel ages apart.</p><p>Is that supposed to be who you are?</p><p>Are you missing something?</p><p>“We’re in the dream bubbles.” He expresses, he’s not really looking at you. Just drawing circles in the ground with his short stubby finger nails, that don’t have even a lick of dirt in between them. </p><p>He’s just so. </p><p>Clean.</p><p>You could stare at him for hours, doing nothing, but watching him breathe. Watch him play with rocks beneath his finger beds, as you sail miles and miles away. About as far as the distance between who you are. You and your surroundings both feel grey, but he is blue. </p><p>“What’re those?” You tilt your head, as you look around you. There are now edges to the ever filling grey. You see a dab of color far off. Some yellow, red, and pinks. You think there are people, but it’s too far away to tell. </p><p>“Some place you go to when you’re asleep. Or dead.”</p><p>“So I’m asleep?”</p><p>“Or dead.”</p><p>You think about this. You’re not dead yet, you’re at least pretty sure of it. You’re just asleep then, safe for now as you plan to meet up with Dave. Plan to meet up with your friend. It’s kind of amazing that you can say you have one of those now.</p><p>“So, which one are you? You’re not actually me are you?” You place your hand on the ground, and catch yourself doing the same thing the other you does. Feeling rocks shift between your nails as they dimly clack against each other. You’re even sloped like him now.</p><p>“Asleep, I guess. I could be both.” He shrugs.</p><p>For the first time, you notice him stop moving his hand. He actually danes to look at you, giving you a quick once over, before looking away.</p><p>“You’re pretty weird. You’re supposed to be me?” He says, rebuffing you. </p><p>You scrub at your face, glasses clinking on your nose. Now that you think about it, you need to get a new pair. The lenses on these things have been cracked for months. They’re impossible to clean, all you see is dust and mud.</p><p>“Most me’s seem so…” He continues, voice muffled, as he leans further into his knees. “care free. Young. And blue. You’re the first one of us I’ve seen that actually looks like they’ve had their balls drop.”</p><p>You snort, folding your arms over your legs. “Thanks I guess?” You look up into the sky, and see what he means. A small blue boy wisps past you two, looking no smaller than twelve or thirteen. He drifts about as aimlessly as all of you do, you guess. You wonder where he’s going. “You’re not that small though. You seem about what, seventeen?” You say absently.</p><p>“Nineteen.” He corrects.</p><p>“Shit, we’re the same age?”</p><p>He looks at you again, and stares kind of hard at you. Expression unreadable, but concentrated. You notice how soft and pink his skin is. The light trail of beauty marks, that you’re sure as fuck you don’t have. His lithe fingers, that are as delicate as snow. Frail, as if they’ve done nothing but lift feathers and throw paper stones. </p><p>Even without contacts, you’re sure his eyes are brighter than yours. Deeper, richer. He has a cuteness that you just don’t have. You wonder what it’d be like, fitting into those skinny jeans with his skinny arms, and thick legs. Clean sneakers, and fixed teeth. You wonder what it’s like. You wonder if he’d mind.</p><p>He looks at you again. This time nervously, and hugs his arms around himself. </p><p>“You look a lot older.”</p><p>You give a crooked smile, showing off your jagged yellow teeth. “I just don’t always have the luxury to shave.”</p><p>“It’s not just that.” He moves his legs, and faces you. Trading in his earlier position for a butterfly style. “You just sort of have that ‘I got mauled by a bear and won’ look.”</p><p>“Hahaha—“ You laugh, stupidly. You throw your hands around lazily, as if you’re slapping at air. “I’ve probably mauled a few things bigger than a bear.”</p><p>“Where do you come from?” He leans in, closer to you. Interest firmly piqued.</p><p>“Mm.” You look him up and down, and shrug. “Nowhere close to home, for you. If I’m getting the right vibe, your life would probably constitute as a lot more ‘normal’ than mine. Do you go to school?”</p><p>“No.” He shakes his head, his cami falling off his shoulders, as he pulls it back up, reflexively. “Dropped out. You?”</p><p>You just shake your head. </p><p>“Guess we’re both a bunch of screwed up older losers, than. Huh?” He says, almost smiling for the first time.</p><p>You give a light snerk to that, and move to sit a bit closer. Face lazily resting on your palm, as you’re now the one drawing circles on the ground, as well as blanks. You just decide to shoot the shit.</p><p>“So, what do you do then? Where do you live?” </p><p>“I live in Washington with my folk.” He grabs a pebble in his hand, and throws it at a pond you’d failed to notice. You shift on grass, as you look up and see clouds. It’s blue, like it’s always been. But duller than you remember. You two seem surrounded by a mist, and a growing ache.</p><p>It tastes like it wants to rain.</p><p>“I mainly just party a lot. Get high, and try to be anywhere but in that hell hole.”</p><p>“Wow. You live on the fast track.”</p><p>He snerks.</p><p>“Home’s that bad, huh?” You sympathize, taking one of the rocks and skipping it past his sunken pebble.</p><p>“My sister and I rarely get along anymore…” He shrugs his shoulders, looking down, resigned. “It’s fine online. I forget that she hates my guts over IM. But suddenly, when we go back to our shared room, there’s an unspoken disdain for each other. Like I’m a parasite, a nuisance, someone she’d rather not have to look at.”</p><p>You draw your eyebrows together, “Did something happen between you two?”</p><p>“I dunno, does puberty turn you into a bitch?” He says throwing another stone or two.</p><p>“In some cases, literally.” You sigh, trying hard not to recall your own shitty comrades.</p><p>He scoffs, and runs his hand through his hair. Massaging a spot that you’re pretty sure is a bald spot on you. You wonder what he does to his hair to get it looking so naturally wispy. It seems soft, and cool. It takes the childness out of him, it looks good on him. On you. You guess.</p><p>“What about you? What do you do?” He asks, smoothing it back in place.</p><p>“Survive, mostly.” You shrug. </p><p>“Do you work at shitty end tail jobs, too?” </p><p>“I, uh.” You scratch at your ingrown stubble, as you fail to meet his face. You lick your lips. “Am a bit of a thief. I tend to loiter, and steal places to sleep. I’m basically homeless, dude.”</p><p>He blinks, incredulously. Straightening up, as he looks about as shocked as watching someone just punch a dog in the face. “Shit, really?”</p><p>“I can’t, uh. Be a normal guy, while I look like this.” You feel an itch on your wrist, and scratch at it nervously with the bite of your nails. You hate thinking of the blurry image of who or why you are what you are. Why you had to try and be different. Why you had to be such a coward.</p><p>“What’s wrong with the way you look?” He takes you out of your thoughts, genuinely confused with your imminent dilemma. </p><p>“I’m like you.” </p><p>“Like me?” He quirks a brow, spacing back like he’s trying to solve an algorithm. His face is scrunched up, puzzled. “We don’t even look that similar.”</p><p>“I’m human.” </p><p>To that, he stays silent. He just keeps staring at you, still just as confused as earlier. You grunt, as you adjust your position, gearing yourself up on how exactly to explain the specifics of your circumstances to an outsider. God, you’re not sure how this should work out. Where do you begin? You two are so fundamentally different.</p><p>“Most people, at the age of thirteen where I’m from, are forced into a surgery that will change them into monsters.” You suck in your tongue, as you mull your words around in your head, circling your fingers loosely around. “They live forever, at the cost of their humanity. Both physically, and figuratively, in most cases in my experience. I haven’t seen another human being actually look like me other than kids, and well…” You take a long drag out, and look him in the eye. “You.”</p><p>His eyes kind of widen at the implication, as if it takes a second or two to get any of what you just said. You wonder if you’re gonna have to reword it. You kind of hate how stupidly complicated your life is.</p><p>“Holy shit.” He gawks out, eyes as wide as saucers, you’re sure you’re the head of the freakshow in a local animal circus. “Holy shit, and I thought <em> my </em> life sucked. What the fuck, dude?”</p><p>He readjusts in his seat, and starts to get excited as a thousand thoughts hit him by the minute. He starts firing questions at you. </p><p>“So you’re like a hideaway? A mean dude on the run?” His face starts grinning, wide and innocuous. A childlike eagerness spreads across his face, as his voice raises in tempo. “Does that mean you kill monsters for a living? Is that why you’re so jacked? Hell yeah, dude, can you teach me how to maul a bear?”</p><p>You feel a half awkward laugh escape your throat. You’re a little embarrassed, and didn’t expect him to just take to it like that. You would have thought you were the stuff made in horror, but he didn’t even second guess you.</p><p>“It’s not all that hard, you don’t even have to be that strong.” You rub at your hot cheeks. Are you blushing? Jesus.</p><p>“Dude, you’re so hard ass. I want to be that cool!” He whines, blind sighting you with the gleam of his teeth, as he gets more in your face. The sun catches in his glasses, and the glare bounces into yours. You scrunch your face, and move back a bit, as the temperature starts to feel a lot less dull.</p><p>“You’re like a rebel! Like the hero down on his luck, ready to take down a corrupted unconstitutional government.” He babbles on in an excited mess, his hands plop hard on your knees, and you’re pretty sure he just accidentally spit on your face.</p><p>“I’m just trying to live, dude.” You move back, rather abashed. What’s even with this guy? “Chill.”</p><p>“Yeah, but think about it!” He does take a pace back, and clutches his hands into fists. “You’re the only dude that’s ever gotten out of being a fucking freak. That’s the biggest fuck you to the cosmos I’ve ever seen!” If it were possible, you’re sure you would see constellations and stars in his eyes. He starts jumping in his seat, grinning ear to ear as he looks at you, and really looks at you. Intimidating as it is. “You’re rad!”</p><p>“Thanks I guess.” You huff out, gnawing on your gum, as you fail to meet his eye. It’s not like you ever thought of yourself as some sort of big hotshot. You’re not even sure the last time you’ve been this embarrassed. You can feel your heart pounding out from inside your chest, and it sounds so loud, you’d be worried you were about to have a heart attack.</p><p>“Man, I feel like I should be asking you for an autograph.” He says this with a smile that’s been plastered on his face the whole time. It feels better than before, but at your own expense. He combs his hands through his hair the way you do, expression mild but relaxed. He feels easy, and it makes you less stressed to watch him, as he watches the sky.</p><p>“There’s more to life than mauling bears…” You sort of, have some questions you probably shouldn’t ask. You’re curious about him, but you’re not really sure what’s considered appropriate in plain conversation, or considered too rude. “Uh…So….Your job, huh.” You change beats, as you try to keep the conversation flowing. “Where do you work?”</p><p>He looks down at you, and blinks inquisitively, before shrugging his shoulders, and plopping his hands in his lap.</p><p>“Down at a depot, it’s like a live in garage filled with a bunch of useless shit. I help move things around.”</p><p>You perk up a little at the notion of getting to be around some place so useful, living in a depot, that would be nice…You would never worry about appliances.</p><p>There’s a rustle of wind, that feels very warm. You place your hand on the grass that’s always been there, like the smile that hadn’t ever escaped his face. He seems content, still. Still as a painting, as he looks between you, and the floor, and the trees, and the sky. His posture is relaxed, and everything feels very in sync, even as you both struggle to pick up at where you last took off. </p><p>It’s odd, being alone with yourself, when you hardly even know him.</p><p>You feel strands of your hair catch into your eyes, and you try to set them back into place. You blink once or twice, when you notice something odd. You glance at silver, struck on his wrist, that you never noticed before. A pretty band of jewelry, with something engraved in it that is arguably illegible from your perspective. There’s also rubber bands strapped underneath, and some faint lines running up and down his veins.</p><p>You tilt your head curiously, squinting a bit, until you realize those look a lot like scars. </p><p>He turns his face to yours, and perks up, when he notices you staring at his arm. “Oh, hey!” He grins widely, as he jingles his keychain in front of you. “I forgot all about this thing. I got this from my last boyfriend. I, uh, think we met somewhere at a party.”</p><p>“And where’d you get the scars?” You test.</p><p>“The scars?” He blinks at you curiously, and brings his arm to his face, and tilts his head. “What scars?”</p><p>He waves his wrist around, as pale as sheep skin, and you notice how clear his arm is. All you see is the silver chain, and light blue veins with dark brown freckles. Where did the rubber bands go? </p><p>You scrunch your face a bit, and lay back down on the hard granite, and grunt, as you curse yourself. Why did you move back so fast, of course you’d get hurt. You’ve been laying on granite this whole time!</p><p>You suck in your teeth, as you watch him mindlessly run his hand in the clear pond water, likely as bored as he’s always been. His expression is always so dull, you wish you could see him smile just once. His eyes don’t bother looking at you, he’s barely spoke a word this entire time. You guess you’ll have to be the one to start the conversation, if you want to learn who this guy is.</p><p>“Where do you work?”</p><p>He shrugs, not bothering to look at you. “Just at a department store.” He says this, as he swishes his hand around in the water, playing along with a colorful blur you’d failed to acknowledge earlier.</p><p>There are goldfish in the pond, and they seem to like him. You wonder if he’s here often with them. Well. Maybe not here, but in his world. You wonder where this is for him. Is this his home? Is this from some sort of park?</p><p>You’d like to know more about him, if he’d let you. </p><p>You sort of like him.</p><p>If it weren’t for the fact that you had a single friend waiting up there for you, you’re not sure you’d ever want to leave. </p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>You catch him off guard, and he tilts his head towards you. His eyes shooting up, and a fish scurrying away at your loud declaration.</p><p>You scoot over closer to him, and crouch on your toes, as you cross your arms, and give him your widest lop sided grin. </p><p>“You know, you would look a lot better with your clothes off…” You wink, and he just kind of stares at you wide eyed. You bite your lip, trying to keep in your laugh. “And on me…I want your clothes. I’ve been jealous of them this entire time.” </p><p>“Oh!” He blinks out, disorientated.</p><p>“Want to know what it feels like to look like you just got mauled by a bear?” You sit up and start shucking off your shirt, as your glasses clank goofily against your neck.</p><p>You throw him your roughed up, (probably smelly now that you think about it, ew) tank top, and he unceremoniously gets hit with it against his face. Get a nice facial of that B.O.!</p><p>By the time you two get settled into each other’s wardrobe, you feel a lot better about yourself. You never actually noticed how nice your arms looked in a short sleeved shirt. You clean up good!</p><p>John is busy combing the hair out of your eyes, and trying to get it to swoop sort of like his. He laughs, as he breathes into your face. “This is like dressing up a big mannequin at a store, that eerily looks like you.” His grin is catching on to you, as you start patting dirt on his cheek.</p><p>“You know, I actually used to have my hair dyed blue.” He hums passively.</p><p>“What? Really?” You raise your brow.</p><p>“Yeah! Want to see it?” He smiles sweetly at you, showcasing perfectly adjacent pearly whites. It takes you a moment to nod, while you watch distantly as he continues to fuss about. He sticks his tongue out his mouth, and tries to get your swoop just right, before stepping back. </p><p>“Ok, ok close your eyes.”</p><p>“Uhh…” You drawl…</p><p>“Just do it you dumbass.”</p><p>You give him a bit of a weary pout, before doing as he says, and placing your palms over your face. </p><p>You wait several seconds, before you hear small giggles coming from the dude on the other end, and you peak from behind your fingers.</p><p>“Can I open them now?” </p><p>“Yeah!”</p><p>You fold your arms, and look around, to see that he looks exactly the same. </p><p>“Uh…?”</p><p>He steps forward, and drags you by the arm to sit down beside where the pond and the fish are. You take a gander at your own reflection, watching as little flecks of fish speed on by. And sure enough, you have streaks of blue hair falling from off of your complexion.</p><p>“Woah.” You take a deeper look, leaning in to the dark abysmal of the water, and tilt your head, as you see your own face do the same.</p><p>You look so…</p><p>Different.</p><p>Kind of like…</p><p>Like, cool?</p><p>“Is that me?” You ask, pointing at the pond.</p><p>“Yeah! It looks good on you. It makes me miss my earlier highlights!”</p><p>When you glance back up at him, he’s rocking the same blue you are, and it feels as if it’s always been there, but--Wait. No it hasn’t.</p><p>How’d he do that?</p><p>“What did you just do?” You reiterate. You take a gander at his rad new locks, that look oddly unfitting on your stark clean face, but kind of rad too. It makes you stand out, which in your scenario isn’t great, but you can dream, right?</p><p>“I changed my hair!”</p><p>“Yeah, but how?” </p><p>He throws his hands in the air, and looks around. Emphasizing your area, and his dorkier features. “We’re asleep! Think about it. You can have anything you want when the world doesn’t make sense.”</p><p>You blink, slowly. “…Huh.” </p><p>You look around curiously, as you notice the trees bristle on about. The sky’s a nice blue, the ground is green, and everything’s secluded, but calm. You wonder what other sorts of things you can do. If he could change your hair, could you change your…</p><p>You have a thought. You move your hand down, and go to look inside your pants.</p><p>You hear laughing come from over in front of you, and a knobby body closes in on you.</p><p>“Can I see?” He chirps up, quirking his head enough that he’s already past the bounds of respectable personal space. </p><p>“Sure.” You snort, getting an eye full. “Yup, we sure are asleep.”</p><p>He just chuckles, as you two share a moment within your pants.</p><p>You move back, enjoying the fruits of your newfound knowledge. The air feels crisp, and a lot more welcome than home. It’s easy to forget you’re not alone, when the wind carries such a quiet calm. A dazed air. A silent lull. </p><p>You feel hungry.</p><p>“Hm.” You ponder out loud, enough to catch your errant partner’s attention. You place a hand on your stomach and mull over your thoughts. “I wonder when the last time I ate was.”</p><p>The world is bright, as sun blinds you from the corner of your jagged eyeglasses. You wince, as you rub a hand over the underside of your cheek. Trying to rub out dotted images from the corner of your corneas. </p><p>“Want to sit down?” A hand tugs your own from your side, and you’re jolted forward. Your bare feet crunch into the tall grass, as you almost trip on a red striped cloth like you always had and—Wait.</p><p>You’re on your knees, as you look at clean short slacks you’re pretty sure you never had. There’s a basket, and some plastic plates, with a glass of orange juice that looks about half full. For some reason his khaki shorts look a lot dirtier than yours, but your gaze catches the thin bangles on his wrist, too distracted to pay attention to the earlier note. </p><p>“What kind of stuff do you usually eat?”</p><p>“Whatever stuff that I can find.”</p><p>“Right, right. Indiana desert Jones, sitting on a rock as he tries to devour a man-eating centipede for his last final meal.”</p><p>He twists back, as he rummages through the basket filled with food. Elbows, and knees covered with a light pattering of scuff. Green covering his light, blue striped shirt. </p><p>“My dad used to make us these all the time,” He says, his pink tongue darting out with a weird glint on the middle that you hadn’t managed to notice until now. “I always kind of hated them, cause it would always get stuck between my teeth.”</p><p>He brings out a large whopping pot roast pie—though it seems to lack the meatier ingredients. Instead, dotted with parts of cinnamon and purple. It smells so sweet, as sweet as his eyes.</p><p>“You ever ate apple cinnamon raspberry pie?”</p><p>You shake your head, and he takes it upon himself to give you a large plate. He kneels closer to your side, as he takes a handful and puts it to your cheek. “Hey, open your mouth!”</p><p>You’re a little too dumbstruck not to listen, as you open your gasket enough to just go, “Uh…”</p><p>Your ‘uh,’ turns more into an “Ah…” as you taste the weird slick coat of sugar against his knuckles. Your immediate response is somewhere between confused, and bliss, as you pull away, and start chewing your food properly.</p><p>“Is it good?”</p><p>“Mm.” You continue chewing, the odd texture sticky against your teeth. “Do you have anymore?” You ask, tilting your head.</p><p>“Yeah! Sure.” He brings his hands to suck on the remainder of crumbs left on him, as he goes on to look at you with a fond smile on his face. You smile back nervously, before he goes back to grab you another slice. He gets out a few other various foods you’re not sure of the name of, before placing them on your lap.</p><p>“I’m not that great at making a lot of stuff, but, uh. I’m pretty good at mac’n’cheese?” He bites his lip, and gives a jittery smile.</p><p>“It looks good.” You raise your eyebrows, and try to give him an honest grin, without feeling too self-conscious about yourself.</p><p>He places a hand on your thigh, and lifts a fork to your face. “Ahh,” He sing songs.</p><p>You let him dictate what pushes through in and out of your mouth, as you taste something mixed with sweet and salt. It stays on your tongue, and you sit with the creamy texture that envelops all of your senses. You groan.</p><p>“Holy shit—“ You smack loudly, as you try to get the goopy texture to stop hanging down your throat, “this is good!” </p><p>“You think so?” He breathes, his hand moving from the meat of your leg, to rest down on your knee.</p><p>“Can I have more of the pie?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah!” </p><p>He moves back enough to scoop the pie from off the edge of the blanket, you watch as delicate hands reveal to you dark crusted cake with purple scatterings on the front. You bring your eyes up to see dark crusted cake, with purple scatterings on the front, as you look past his smile and keep your gaze centered on his neck.</p><p>“Is that a hickey?” You point to your own neck, and he blinks on at you curiously.</p><p>“A hickey?” He rubs a vein-stricken hand across his collar, and you look on at the blueberry patterns scattered around his wrist. </p><p>“Are you sick?” You rub your own reflexively.</p><p>“Huh?” His face drops, “What makes you say that?” </p><p>He stiffens an upper lip at you, as he keeps his arm cradled to himself, defensively. The air feels still, as you two share an unwilling stare down. You peer from your peripheral, to see the grounds flattening, the skies, graying, and when you focus your attention back to the boy in front of you, his legs are crossed, back in his ripped jeans, and he has his eyes set down on his phone. His orange glass seems half empty.</p><p>You watch him, listening in to the light clicks of his fingers. Bandages wrapped around his thumb, and under his joints. He doesn’t try to hold your attention, as you still taste the faint undertone of buttered cheese, and cinnamon pie, as he furrows his brow.</p><p>“Hey, uh…” You start. His eyes move to slowly stare daggers at you, as he looks on at you. Sort of… Angrily. “Do you want to. Um.” </p><p>You dampen your tongue, as you try to re-find your words.</p><p>“Do you want to go for a walk?” </p><p>There’s a long drawn out silence that makes itself known the longer you hold your breath. His eyes are like ice, and you feel the frigid burn of it barely shift, as he stands to his feet. He knocks over the cup, and walks on cracked granite, as he shrugs his grey hoodie.</p><p>“Your move.”</p><p>***</p><p>You walk the path of dirt and mud, brown coats your feet, as you leave grey wonderous mist in the past. It’s just cold. Dark, and like earth that shifts and quakes, you keep steady and plastered. Rooted like titanium, as sand wisps and kicks childishly into your eye. </p><p>You recognize you’re moving a lot faster than he is, when you hear footsteps clack between each five steps you take. Your chest churns, as you bring yourself to look behind you. You swallow your tongue.</p><p>He’s keeping a reasonable distance. You’re not really sure what he’s thinking, he doesn’t seem to be looking towards you. His eyes are on the ground, and everything but.</p><p>You turn your face back, and think vacantly. </p><p>You hear piter-pattering of your boots clunking against the dirt bleeding ground. It’s about as cold as it always is, even when you sleep, you can’t seem to have a good night’s rest. When you look up at the sky, you never see any sun. You only really remember it in your old picture books, and in your nightmares.</p><p>An echo of crows croon like an ass in the foreground. You remember your friend. You think of Dave.</p><p>You put a thumb to your teeth, and lick dryly. You never realized how much work it was to keep a friend. Will it be like this when you re-meet yours as well?</p><p>“This is where you live, huh?” </p><p>Your attention sweeps back into dis-reality, as you move your head back enough to face him. Stones kick against your shoe, and you bring your hand back down from your mouth. To lay neatly against your waist, as you try to keep your gut from stirring like a pot.</p><p>“Yeah.” You nod.</p><p>“Are you trying to make me feel bad?” </p><p>Your mouth opens, but you’re left without much to say. It feels like he’s glaring daggers at your back, and you keep your head ahead of you. You just shrug.</p><p>“Just trying to move the ball back in my court.”</p><p>Pitter patter, of your boot and your heel clack aimlessly like your wrist to your side. A street starts to form itself, as tuffs of tumbleweed whisk past you. There’s a light clinking, as you move your hand to sit in your back pocket. There’s a light whistling coming from behind you, and you turn your head in curiosity.</p><p>He’s blowing a tune innocently, as you see him in weirdly out of place overalls, and a silly hat. He has cheeky air to him, and you only just notice the boots. There’s a tooth pick in his mouth.</p><p>Oh what the fuck.</p><p>“Shucks, boy-howdy, would you look at the time.” He looks at an invisible watch, that suddenly becomes visible. “Well the cows should be about coming home soon.”</p><p>You move a hand to your forehead. There’s a hat on your head. You look down, and now your boots match.</p><p>
  <em> God fucking dammit. </em>
</p><p>“Stop.”</p><p>He giggles, and walks over to your side, and bumps you in the hip. His silver chains knocking into yours. You bite back a grin.</p><p>“That sure is one big WALLOP of a request, I’ll have to go ask the old mammary.” He says even cheekier.</p><p>You keep your hands to your face. Your groan is muffled, as you try to meld your palms into your cheeks. “Are you making fun of me?”</p><p>“Why in TAR<em> nation </em>, would I be doing that??”</p><p>You shudder, as you sink lower and lower to the ground. He puts a reassuring arm to your back, as you just let all hell break loose. You don’t know why in particular you’re getting bullied by God. By the devil himself. Was there something or another about the devil you know? Did he have to have your literal face as he did it it?</p><p>“Wanna hear a joke?”</p><p>You make a half sigh and a half laugh.</p><p>“Why do they sell so many button-fly jeans in Texas?” He <em> leans in </em>really close. He whispers in your ear, “Because the sheep can hear the zipper a mile away.”</p><p>You move your hands shakily down, and look at him. “I don’t get it.”</p><p>“Wait, hold on.” You watch as he moves his hands to start playing with his zipper. “Ok, now you’re the sheep.”</p><p>You go back to covering your face, and breathe out another heavy sigh, as you start to walk away.</p><p>“Aw, did you just make a weird noise? That was cute!”</p><p>“<em> No </em>.” You whine, as your pace moves a lot faster.</p><p>“Wait, wait. I got another one! What’s the difference between meat and chicken?”</p><p>You’re sprinting. </p><p>You hear a loud squawk, as he must tumble on his own feet, and yelps.</p><p>“Ow, shit.” He grunts out, and you’re too busy running to hear him lurch out, “…If you beat a chicken it’s dead!”</p><p>***</p><p>You swish a piece of grass in your mouth, as you both watch another tumbleweed run against the dirt path. You traded hats, and he seems to like your bulkier one more, despite the fact, that <em> he </em> was the one to think it up. It took you a while to recall the joke, but you faintly remember Cowboys and Indians, and things of that nature. Your childhood is always a bit of a blur, but you feel embarrassed that you didn’t get the joke a lot sooner.</p><p>His leg taps yours, as you rest your cheek to lean against your arm. He’s busy playing with the little bead along the edge of his hat. He seems a lot calmer now, which makes you feel a lot more at ease. </p><p>You quit chewing on your piece of weed, and put it to the side. You tuck your arm, beneath your neck, as you look deeply into your dual’s face. He’s still playing to himself, when he stops, and looks up at you with a round face.</p><p>“You know…” You start. You see parts of black blue hair stuck to his glasses, and you stop yourself from trying to brush it off. “If you ever want to talk about stuff. I’m right here, ok?”</p><p>He blinks big blue eyes at you, and you clutch your fists tighter together. You feel uncomfortably wired, and somewhere between your chest and stomach feels upset. The feeling starts to sink, as he turns his face away from you.</p><p>He sighs.</p><p>“I don’t go to sleep just to think about the hard stuff.” He says really muffled.</p><p>You don’t have anything to say to that, as you just breathe a sigh in resignment. </p><p>“I get it.” You burrow yourself deeper into your arms. “I’m just saying, I’m here for you if you need it.”</p><p>“Mm…” He breathes out, not looking at anything in particular. </p><p>You don’t know how long you two have been sitting like this. You have no concept of time here. It’s had to been hours by now, right? It could be a day, maybe two. You’re not sure, and neither is your environment. The sun hasn’t stopped shining since you’ve laid down, and it’s almost past seven.</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>You perk up from hearing his soft melodic voice. He raises his chin, and gives you a look that warms your throat. His face looks soft, and softer, as he moves closer towards you.</p><p>“I like you.”</p><p>His lips reach yours, and you feel your nerves start to fire up. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do, or how you’re supposed to move, or—‘<em> Loosen up </em>.’</p><p>You swallow, as you close your eyes, and feel yourself move on top of him. Your body shifts to rest comfortably in between him. He tastes like cinnamon, and candy. You keep your hands to his shoulders, as you play the Casanova. You’re not even sure what script or play you’re supposed to be acting in, but you’ve already broken your leg.</p><p>Hands rest between your waist, as you pull yourself together. Pulling off of him briefly, just for him to surge back towards your mouth without your say so. Like a leaping fish, and your leaping faith, as you take the bait. You plunge in further, and wrap your arms around him, as you try to feed something you never knew could be so hungry.</p><p>Your glasses clink together, and you two forget and remember at once that you never had any to begin with. You feel too short, and you feel too tall, your nails feel too sharp to scratch, and your whine feels too childish and too small for the ride. </p><p>His hands delve low enough, to make your briefs raise. You take in spit, as you brave your voice. “Slow down?”</p><p>His fingers linger, before stopping, as he looks up at you, the way you look down at him. Your cheeks feel redder than they should, and your hair’s a mess. You’ve never felt your lips swell from anything other than cold, and rotten meat before. You feel like your breath is eloping without you, and somehow you still managed to catch the bouquet. </p><p>“Did I do something wrong?” He licks cherry pink lips, that make your own feel severely dry.</p><p>“No.” You breathe. “I like you too.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>You figured he was as flushed as a deck of playing cards, until you saw the color set on his face. Your hands find the ones laying along his side, as you cup his freckled palm. His lip twitches something faint within you, and you decide to lean in.</p><p>You peck him, testing your own nerves, before raising his hand to your mouth, and kissing along a vein. He tenses up when you do, and you see him grow soft. Mild, like your mood. Your heart starts to thrum, as you decidedly massage his knuckles.</p><p>“Could I be the leader?” </p><p>You watch the dotted path, that scatters around his eyes, as they follow your lashes down to his nose. You draw your vision back to his face, and watch his chilled breathing. His blown out irises. His pink pursed lips.</p><p>He faintly nods.</p><p>“Ok.”</p><p>Your hand is positioned to his side, curled up in a fist, as you follow the curve of his hip. You move it along, shyly, up to where his chest flares up, and reaches his pit. Your thumb rubs along his shoulder, it’s bare from your earlier entanglement. The dip of his collar, only shallowly hidden by a white damp tank top. There’s no end in sight, from freckles, to beauty, that marks a trail up his neck. </p><p>You trace your fingers down the length of where bone juts out, and his Adam’s apple falls. There’s pink dusting in more places than just his face, and it sweeps even past the tips of his ears. You graze your thumb to his chin, and feel how much smoother he is than you. How much nicer, and normal. The gooder one between you two. </p><p>From the ‘u’ of his cupid’s bow, to the carefully punctuated paint stroke of his nose. The light trails of his brow that goes awry from it’s normal root. The dark creases that make his eyes puff out, and sink in all at once.</p><p>He’s beautiful. </p><p>He’s gorgeous.</p><p>He can’t possibly be whoever you’re supposed to be.</p><p>He’s not you.</p><p>You close your eyes, and move to taste the chapped edge of his lip. You hear a sigh come from your better half, as you nip hard enough to catch his teeth. You take away your stubble, only to catch a softened—</p><p>“<em> leave it </em>.”</p><p>-- as you vacillate between being more like him, or being more like yourself. </p><p>You part your lips again, as you move to envelop him the way he’s gotten into you. The way he’s gotten inside of you. Your throat clenches, as you hear the light whistles of his own, open, and close. Open and close, as you feel pinpricks and needles taze through your body, with each push and shove. </p><p>You open your mouth wider, as your breath and tongue tumble out like the butterflies fighting to come out of your intestines and lungs. You breathe in, and you kiss the way you see in the movies, when you used to watch them. The way their bodies meld and held on to each other. The longing looks in their eyes. The staggering breath hitches, as your knee accidentally slides out of place, and your beaver’s bite hard into his skin.</p><p>“Sorry,”</p><p>“Mor—<em> it’s fine </em>.”</p><p>You watch the quickened pace of his exhales. You focus on the perfect ‘o’, and the way his blue eyes look at you. The withering sounds he makes, as his hand comes in contact with your own. He clasps bruised, and bandaged knuckles around your own, and pleads something unwavering with the deep pout of his lip.</p><p>You settle yourself, as you somber your nerves. You move up to kiss between his forehead, before moving to his nose. His chin. His neck. Your hand falls down the collar of his front, to the folds of his abs. You lay still on his stomach, and feel contented on the knowledge of how less firm he is than you are. He feels much warmer than you do too.</p><p>You like all the subtlies of his body that you lack.</p><p>You move your cold hands from underneath his tank top to keep them warm. Feeling fire elicit from both your lips, and your fingertips, as you draw out jagged circles and messed up squares. Lining them in different directions, in every which direction, to the point, that you can <em> feel </em> his heart beat and his blood try to push you out the way.</p><p>You feel your vision flare.</p><p>You take a shattered inhale, as you notice your hips move in place. A long drawn out chord, strung held on the tip of his breath. You lower your mouth, to deafen the flush held deep within in your throat. </p><p>Your mouth laps kisses down his middle, like gum drop buttons, and pepper candies on a gingerbread. You kiss down towards his belly and hear that <em> groan </em> again. You feel yourself do the same, mutedly. You grasp underneath him, and pull him closer to you. You’re embarrassed. You want some of his warmth too.</p><p>“<em> John </em>—"</p><p>He says your name, and it feels so foreign to you. </p><p>Your hands decide to move around him on their own. You push up, underneath the thin material of his shirt, as it rubs up against the bareness of your knuckles. You nibble on the baby hairs that coat around his bellybutton. Nails biting into him, as you feel him squirm to and fro, from your grasp.</p><p>He makes that hitched noise, that sounds somewhere close between a hiccup, and a gulp. You lick your lips, and you whine. You feel teased, as he rolls his body in an unaccompanied dance. Solo, despite how close you two are. Waist laying, and rolled-over, as he keeps your gaze enraptured like a tempted snake from a significantly high-pitched tune.</p><p>“<em> Ahh </em>—”</p><p>He sings. </p><p>Your jeans cling reluctantly to your thigh. Never, have they ever, felt like they were trying to strangle you, and hold you still at the same time. You dig your hand into the heel of your zipper, as you mimic him. You mimic the parts you like about him, which is too much, and you don’t feel like you’re leading, you feel like you’re being misled.</p><p>“<em> Ah </em>,” </p><p>You moan.</p><p>“<em> John </em>.” </p><p>He shudders, huskily.</p><p>He scrambles for breath, as he looks halfway onto the path of heaven. His face doused in sweat, as it trickles down his jaw, and on to the bed, that you hadn’t been aware that you needed. You’d thank him, if he wasn’t already thanking you two times over.</p><p>You move a hand to rub around your chest, as you watch him do the same. You pinch your fingers down across your nipple, and grit your teeth, as your hands bite deeper and deeper into the cloth against your skin.</p><p>You watch your perfect mirror, as he rolls his shirt up, and fondles himself on your landscape. You want to feel like something’s yours. Even if it doesn’t belong to you.</p><p>Your knees ride up, as you slide yourself to fit better on top of him. You rest your head against his cheek, and pant openly against his ear. You rock into his hip, and kiss his neck, and you feel loose thin arms run against yours, and hold you still. Jewelry hits you across your chin, and you feel too out of it to notice. Your sights are on the John in front of you, not the one behind you.</p><p>You hold him closer to you, and breathe in his scent of fruits and vanilla. You bury yourself as deeply as you can manage. You want to make something about him yours.</p><p>“I want to touch you,” You talk through skin.</p><p>“<em> Please </em> — <em> I’m in pain </em>--" </p><p>He hiccups, arms putting more pressure on your neck, as he breaths rapid huffs into your ear. </p><p>“What do you want me to do?” You ask, giving a kiss to an aged bruise. </p><p>He makes a noise akin to a whimper, and arches away from you. He sits up, and draws your head back to move with him. You watch, as he takes his shirt off, first. Before he moves to wiggle out of his dirt stained shorts. His underwear comes and goes, as it’s kicked on to the floor. Your eyes stay focused to the brunt of his knee, as your heart speeds up at the sound of him sucking wet skin.</p><p>You linger on his collar, watching the wave of color wash over him, as his mouth parts and closes. You see a blur of his arm move, as his breathing quickens. Your face heats up, when he lets out a moan, your vision warbling, as you keep to his freckles, instead of the saliva trailing down his neck.</p><p>“<em> Look at me </em>.”</p><p>You dig your nails into your palm, and hold back a noise that wants to escalate out of your throat. You glance at his eyes, that seem glossed over, and pleading. His arm moves faster, and his legs aren’t shy, as they raise lower and lower to his body, as he jerks up. </p><p>You practically feel dizzy with adrenaline, veins pumping blood in to your ears, as he raises his voice to painful levels. Your knees quake with apprehension, as your gaze slithers down, unevenly. You see too much, all at once, and swallow, going back to his eyes.</p><p>“You’re pretty.”</p><p>He lets out another line of saliva, as his voice starts to shake, and his moans reverberate like waves against the room.</p><p>“<em> Th </em> — <em> Thank you </em>.”</p><p>He lifts off the bed, as if he’s made of looser things like slinkies, or rubber. His pacing speeding up, every time your hand moves lower. The whine he makes, every time you two make eye contact, destroys and sense of resolution you have.</p><p>His hand moves faster, and forces yours to do the same.</p><p>“Can I see?”</p><p>He sighs.</p><p>It takes you a while to realize you’re the only one fully clothed. You feel more embarrassed when it dawns on you, clothes feeling too thick, and mouth feeling too full of cotton. You go to unbutton your pants—but falter, and start with your shirt. You pull it off in as swift of a movement, as you can manage, and use it to dab off some of the sweat from your brow. When you move it off your face, to your back, you see him staring at you in such a weird way.</p><p>“Are you ok?”</p><p>“Yeah,”</p><p>His eyes gleam down to your pants, and you watch the way he starts back up. His lips draw in on themselves, as you shake off the remainder of your clothes. The last of your drawers, falling suit, with the last of your demurity. He feels like he’s eating you alive, and you haven’t even managed to trapeze yourself into the arms of carnality.</p><p>“I’ve never, um. Gotten this far before.”</p><p>You breathe out, dazed.</p><p>He pulls his hands out of himself, and you watch the way his elbows and knees crack as he sits himself up by the back of the scattered pillows. He takes another languid breath, as he gets himself more comfortable. His legs hovering over your head, as he falls back on the bed. He brings his hands between himself, and spreads himself out.</p><p>“Just put it in.”</p><p>You swallow, looking down, and back up at him again.</p><p>“It looks kind of small.”</p><p>“It’ll fit.”</p><p>He breathes out again, in reassurance, as he spreads himself out wider.</p><p>You feel your tongue dry.</p><p>“So…Just. Just like that.”</p><p>His legs sway lackadaisically within the midst of your hindrance. Your eyes don’t know where they should be following. You feel your breath stutter.</p><p>“We’re not in the real world, you don’t have to worry about lube or condoms.”</p><p>That does manage to set your nerves at ease, as you concentrate your energy on the unclaimed beast in front of you. You feel a bead of sweat run down your hair, as you shift in place, and try to picture yourself perfectly between his legs. You take in a deep huff, before your eyes get brought back to his attention.</p><p>“I’m not, uh. Upsetting you, am I?” </p><p>He fidgets, face wary, as he moves to sit up. His brows are knit in a way that makes your heart sink, as he looks back and forth between your face. Clearly trying to read you. </p><p>“Do you not like guys?” </p><p>He bites his lip self-consciously, as he starts to play with the bandages on his hands.</p><p>“Should I change, um. Would you prefer me if I had a vag?”</p><p>“That’s not it, I ju—"</p><p>You stare down for two seconds longer than you should have, and stare right back up at him. You swallow down real hard, as you see him do the same. He looks somewhere between disheveled and a deer that just got caught, and you feel like such a dick.</p><p>“I just. Um.”</p><p>You start, clearing your throat. You move a bit closer to him, and watch him move inward, a little shyly. You frown.</p><p>“I just don’t want to hurt you.”</p><p>You watch his eyes jump between yours, as if what you said is eating away at him. You don’t like how upset he looks, so you edge in a little closer and bring him into your arms. You nuzzle your cheek in the crook of his neck, apologetically.</p><p>“Sorry,” You mumble to him, gently.</p><p>You don’t hear much word from him, before he gives out a sigh, and relaxes more in your hold.</p><p>“You’re not going to hurt me…”</p><p>He brings his own arms to wrap around you, and rubs his face against your shoulder.</p><p>“Do you still want to, or…?”</p><p>You give a kiss to the side of his neck, before bringing yourself up. You watch the light glisten of his eyes, as the dimming in the room catches on his irises. You pull his hand back from the bed, and you kiss the underside of his fingers.</p><p>“Yeah. I’m ok now.”</p><p>You press your cheek into them.</p><p>He does that lip biting thing again, and you see his eyes flutter, anxiously. </p><p>He moves a bit closer to you, and tilts your head. Drawing your lips in circles, as he gives you the most modest feeling kiss on record. You burrow yourself as deeply into him as you can manage, before he pulls away, doe-eyed.</p><p>He glances down between you, and hunches forward a little timidly.</p><p>“Can I, um.” He whispers softly, so soft that you have to lean in just to hear him. You brush your fingers down his side, and ‘hum’ questionably, as he makes it noticeably difficult to meet your face. He mumbles, “Can I have my dick back?”</p><p>“Ah,” You glance down forgetting yourself. “Yeah, it’s fine.” </p><p>You feel something rest against the meat of your thigh, and tap your forehead to his.</p><p>“I think it’s pretty anyway,” You whisper.</p><p>His face looks mildly uncomfortable, which makes your heart ache. You both lean into each other, and the kiss only breaks, when he makes a weird noise. Something warm hits your pelvis, and it only gets worse when you shift between him. You glance down, and are immediately confused at what you’re looking at.</p><p>When it dawns on you, you kind of get shocked. You raise your head, but notice him refuse to meet your gaze, as he keeps his eyes on the ground. </p><p>“Wow, ah.” </p><p>You hear him make a sheepish noise, as he curls in more forward. Your hand moves without thinking, and you brush around the head of his cock. Your fingers feel sticky, and you think he probably makes more of the stuff than you do.</p><p>He makes a small noise, that reminds you of the person that you’re holding.</p><p>“Should we stop now?”</p><p>He makes another whimper, and shakes his head.</p><p>“I can still keep going.” He sucks in his lip, and he grabs your hands by the wrist, as he encourages you to keep feeling him up. “Can we keep going. Please?”</p><p>You lighten up, and nod, bringing your hand to brush around his hair, and move your mouth down to his again. You lower him back on the bed, rubbing your other hand down the back of his neck, as you try to let go of the rest of your resolve. </p><p>He wraps his legs around your waist, and you cradle him to your neck, as you rut shallowly against his hip. You still feel the slick grease of earlier against you, and it helps impel you towards your impending goal. You quiver in his ear, as you line yourself towards his entrance.</p><p>He moves back from your mouth, and helps move your dick to where it should be. His entire face looks flushed, collar sticking out, as he exhales harshly from his stomach. You want to keep kissing him forever, but eternity is in the cute way he squirms to try and adjust himself.</p><p>You move to help spread him out, and say your last prayers, before pushing forward. He makes a loud sound at the sudden intrusion, and it steadies you to a stop, but he puts your hand against his waist, and thrusts his body up forward, despite your charged position. You grunt out a noise, as he lets out an ached sigh. His head flops back on the bed, as he arches his back, and bares back his throat.  </p><p>Your heart starts to pound in your ear, as he grips his nails into your skin, and tugs you forward.</p><p>“Wait—”</p><p>“<em> No </em>--!”</p><p>His legs clamp tighter around you, as he forces you to jolt on your knees. He makes a weak noise, as he arches more forward, moving his arms down to spread himself out wider, as he pushes up against your waist, and whines. His heavy breathing makes you dizzy, as does the way he encages you to him like a widow spider.</p><p>You refuse to move, instead hungering down on him to keep him from hurting himself. You hear his shaky heaves, as he clutches on to you just as tightly. You notice him still try to wiggle his hips, and you bite down on his shoulder.</p><p>“<em> Stop </em>.”</p><p>You feel him tremble in your grasp, and make hitched broken breaths, as you feel your mutual hearts spin rapidly out of control. The air feels thick, and a headache is lurching quietly behind your skull, as you keep your hold on him strong. After a while, you feel his body start to relax, and he stops holding on to you as tightly. </p><p>He drops his shoulders, and reclines back on the bed. His arms lay looser across your back, and his breathing comes out a lot more shallowly. You don’t make any sudden movements, as you listen for the beat of his nerves to even out, as well as for the clinging of his insides to recede. You bite on your own lip, as the pulsing in your own wrists keep you tied down. The smell of his shampoo and sweat, keeping you tethered to the situation, and not just off in fuckoff space.</p><p>You’re the last to move, as you pull back just enough to get a glimpse of his face. His eyes are dotted with red, and his hair is unevenly tousled. His lips look redder than when you last kissed them, and you feel like doing it all over again. You move to peck him underneath his eyelid, and he makes a small held back hiccup. </p><p>“Are you ready to move?”</p><p>You ask against his cheek.</p><p>He nods his head, and chews more on his lip, as he brings you in closer. </p><p>You give him another kiss, before starting the slow upheaval of pulling out of him. You memorize the way his body tugs on you, the way he tries to suck you in, and the way he successfully manages. The small sighs of anticipation, the beads of sweat sticking to the indent of his collar, and falling down the dive of his chest. His mussed up brow, his plumped pink lips. You gaze hungrily at him, as you imagine his breathless whines, as you pump in and out of him. As you reach as far into him, as you can possibly manage, and pay him back for settling himself so snugly and nestled into your chest and ribs. As if he’s always been there, and as if it was meant for him in the first place.</p><p>He breathes out a soft chord of a moan, as you hadn’t been realizing you were moving. You snap back to your senses, but don’t bring yourself to stop, as you hear his breathy exhales with each harsh thrust of your hip. Your bones meet the bump of his pelvis, as you etch and scratch your stubble against the meat of his gait. You rut noise out of him, as his eyes grow foggy, and his hands become more malleable. His bend conforms with yours, and his rubric becomes more pliable.</p><p>He’s soft against what makes you hard. Letting you move him, instead of him fighting against you. Creeping his hands above himself, to hold on to the wood of the hedge board, as he lets you raise his hips. You move his thigh along your shoulders, and bring him close to you, forceful enough that he lets out an acute yelp, as you nearly break his neck. </p><p>“<em> John </em>,”</p><p>You murmur, as you hover over him. Your hips pistoling in and out, as your grip tightens, and your chest grows tight with each awkward tense of your muscles. You gulp down dry spit, as you keep your rhythm steady, and your head as clear as your shaky visage. His small gasps, and saliva trails egging you on, as you’re edged on the path of marking passage in a man you’ve met for less than a day, and felt for more than a heartache. You want his toes to curl, and to remember you past your voice, and your gloominess. Even in a dream, you want him to recall the <em> jerk </em> of you splitting down the middle, and the throb of your head on nine hours of dry, the vertigo between your eyes as he breaks your pride like the cock that broke your glasses. Twisted like the snake that coiled between you and something sick, as he raises his lip, as you raise up his hip. You don’t have to be dead to feel like you’re buried, burying yourself deeper and deeper into his pores, and you’re agitated at the thought of waking up, and you’re agitated at the thought of forgetting.</p><p>Of one night stands, and late night bruises, your throat is filled with acid, as your teeth clench from sharpened jittering. You grunt, and bustle him nearly out the bed, as he starts to hang from off the edge. You can barely enjoy the way color is drawn down to where you two connect the dots, the way his ribs raise out of his unveiled tense abs. The way his face is drawn in a grimace that screams pleasure more than the sunken dexterity brimming from out of your viscera. That bubbles and bubbles, but refuses to spoil something that you’re desperately trying desperately to cling on to. As you desperately try to keep it together, before you rip something apart.</p><p>“You’re beautiful.”</p><p>You huff out, keening as you feel yourself near your bodily limits. You jack rabbit into him, as you bite down on your lip in a hurry, worrying and worrying, as you watch the way his hair tussles in and out of his face, as the buildup feels like it proceeds the fall, as your hips raise the stakes, but none of your gyrating are soothing any of the aches.</p><p>“I l—”</p><p>You feel your throat clamp up in self awareness, as your rocking grows faster, and his moans grind on you louder. Your heart stammers, and your gut heats up, as beads of sweat fall from every place other than your eyes. Idling and idolizing contempt, as you swallow dry spit, and feel somewhere between a groan and a heave try to shudder out of you, as you mark him with your life, because that’s the only thing you have.</p><p>You bite down harder than you can chew, as you bring him as close to you as you can manage.</p><p>And you cum.</p><p>And that’s all it is.</p><p>And that’s all you can bring out.</p><p>“—”</p><p>The sound that permeates between you two is just heavy breathing, as your arms refuse to evict themselves from the safeguard of his waist. You hold him like a teddy bear, as you’re brought back to the smell of apples and peaches and sex and candy. His breathing soothing yours, as you try to not dig your nails into him, as you enjoy him. Enjoy the feeling, and enjoy his scent, and his soft soothing voice, with his soft soothing hand that—</p><p>“Hey,”</p><p>He coos in your ear, as he makes himself very apparent, on how much higher he sits from you. That you’re buried in the nest of his chest, like the ruffled covers you don’t want to uncover from.</p><p>A hand is smooth on your hair, that makes you shudder, as your hold on him tightens.</p><p>“Hey.” </p><p>His voice becomes smaller, as he brushes hair back from behind your ear. His skin feeling as soft, as the state of your emotional vitality. His nails scratching, and running along your forehead in a way that doesn’t make you feel pathetic.</p><p>“I’m right here, ok?” </p><p>You feel him adjust on top of you, and his arms cradle you in a way that makes you feel nice. You hide your face in the musk of his pit, as your face feels as hot as the warmth still wrapped around your cock. You feel the girth of his arms, and his bangles pressed into your back shoulder, and the tuff of his hair rubbing against your neck.</p><p>“I’m not going anywhere.”</p><p>You clench your teeth, as you hate yourself for the way your nails are biting into him. You try to grab something closer that’s as close as it’s gonna get. You’re enveloped in beautiful warmth, but all you do is feel cold.</p><p>His arms move from you, and you shudder involuntarily, as hands move to bring your face in the cup of his palms, as you have trouble even seeing him. </p><p>He rubs his thumbs down your cheeks, and says in a soft, lilac voice,</p><p>“Want to be boyfriends?”</p><p>You feel your body tremble, and you can’t help the whimper that expels from your body, as your heart pounds fast enough for you to have a heart attack.</p><p>He moves down and kisses you, and you let out a jagged noise. </p><p>You can’t even bring yourself to kiss him back, as you cry openly in his mouth.</p><p>His hands don’t leave your face, as he moves his lips against the apples of your cheek. Your own move to grasp his, as you hiccup, feeling your back get pressed against the rustle of the covers. He kisses you between your brow, to your nose, down your chin, and down your neck, as his hands rest comfortably from the duvet of your waist. Your chest feeling as achey as whenever you catch a cold, while he sits comfortably against your hip. His hair halo’d like an angel, as he feels tall enough, that he’ll fly out of your grasp.</p><p>“Ready for round two?”</p><p>He smiles, and you don’t let out much of a response. You just blubber dumbly, and nod, as your hands fall placidly against his thigh. He sways his hips playfully, as he builds and sets the pace. His body slamming down on you, with the weight of his cheeks. He draws out cries from you, that dwell further than just that of reflex, but that mix with the salt that tangs the inside of your gums. </p><p>You didn’t even know you could feel so good, as you come to pieces, with each hard jerk that pummels you, and hits you in every which way. Your cock feels oversensitive, as he tries to draw more noise out of you, your blood pushing your nerves, as you feel like you could faint and fall out, if you weren’t already asleep.</p><p>You pant openly, liquid dripping down your chin, as you watch the way his own dick bobs in front of you. His stomach rolls sexily from your waist, as he smooths his fingers down your side, in a way that would tickle if it didn’t feel so nice. His hair falls in strands, that wisp against his face, and his face looks about as red as your cheeks feel.</p><p>You rock against him, when he tightens a certain way, and makes a sound that makes you want to copy him. You don’t realize how lonely your lips feel, until you see him lower himself more to your level, and you engulf his mouth the best you can. Your hands sit to curve behind him, and rest on his sacrum, kneading the dip and slope of his skin, as you tug him down as you push up, gaining a rhythm that makes him startle, as he moans jittery against your mouth.</p><p>Your breathing simmers huskily, while you regain your earlier vim, energy ramming out of you, as you pick up where you last left off. Cheek nestled against his, as he leans against your shoulder, moaning content and dire sounds. Your hand moves in front of him, and you feel the heat and pulsing of a cock that’s just as broad as yours is, but also just as foreign. He keens into your neck, and you feel his teeth, as you rub him off until he’s spilling into your hands.</p><p>He tightens around you hard enough, that you can’t keep yourself from groaning, as you let out whatever remains of yourself you have. </p><p>You hold him, sturdy. Pumping fluids into him, as he holds back on to you like a vice. You’re more relieved than anything, once your muscles untense, and he stops trying to stop your overexeeding circulation. His clutch softening, as both of your breaths intermingle. He moves to give you another kiss, and you feel your tongues interlock, as he embraces you.</p><p>You settle, comfortable and calm, in the languid motions, and gentle presses, until you feel him start to pick up speed again, and you’re forced to howl, as your dick aches, and your head spins.</p><p>“A-Again?”</p><p>He giggles a little mischievously, biting down on your neck, as he shakes his hips, and starts rubbing down your inner thigh.</p><p>“You’re a pretty lucid dreamer. You don’t have to have limits when you’re asleep.”</p><p>He nibbles down to where your ear lobe is, and starts to suck on it. You never even knew you could be sensitive there. You scrunch your neck up, and whine, as your person and your senses get assaulted.</p><p>“How d-do you just turn something like that off?”</p><p>“You just forget. Just like breathing.”</p><p>“That sounds terrifying. I don’t want to forget how to breathe!” </p><p>You whine again, as he starts rubbing a hand along your chest, and plays with one of your nipples. </p><p>“T-That’s like the equivalent of remembering I have a nose.” You groan.</p><p>“Don’t be such a scaredy-cat.” </p><p>He mocks you, as he laps circles into your skin, and looks up at you, coyly. His hips not stopping their movements, as they thrust on top of you. Your panting competing with the sounds coming from his insistent fucking, as you’re barely braced for the sudden onslaught of feelings, when you feel him bite down hard on your collar.</p><p>You do one of the things he said, and forget how to breathe. He bites down hard on you again, and you croon upward, nipples feeling tingly, as you’re made keenly aware of their awkward sense of hardening. You bite down on your lip, as he keeps riding you like a horse. He teases you, and makes you feel worked up to the point where it’s silly.</p><p>“<em> John </em>,” </p><p>You whine out, his movements are unbearable, as his speed picks up, more than he lets down. You move your arm enough so that you can bite down on something, as he rocks you out of your senses. You’re not even the one getting fucked, but you feel like you’re the one losing the race.</p><p>You hear another childish giggle sound from above you, and you see the wide smile that characterizes his face, as he bounces on you in a way that’s anything other than bashful. You feel your wrists get pulled back, and tugged above you, as he breathes heavily on your face, your eyes lingering on the shine on his tongue, as it taunts you much the same as he does. </p><p>“You know,” </p><p>He starts, his breathing trying to catch up with him, as he keeps his focus on you. His sweat cascading, and dripping down your neck, as he keeps your hands pinned tightly, and digs his own nails into you as payback from earlier.</p><p>“You’re pretty adorable.” </p><p>You groan, not really knowing what to say. The way he looks at you makes your cock start to ache, as you suck in your lip, and try to mitigate your sounds.</p><p>“When I first met you I thought—”</p><p>He takes a shuddering breath, as he tries to gasp for air amongst a room full of helium.</p><p>“You were—k-kinda—scary.”</p><p>He whines, and drops his head against your shoulder, as his breath tickles your neck. He doesn’t stop, his knees buckling against your sides, as they start to chafe and bruise you, more than your ego already has. You lurch forward, failing to keep your noises in tact, as he shifts one hand to keep you held down, as his other goes to travel up and down your throat. </p><p>“I like your eyes, by the way,” </p><p>He starts, catching you off guard enough for you to look at him.</p><p>“They’re nice even though they’re dark.”</p><p>Your vision starts to fail you, as you can’t stop the hitch in your breath, as your bottom half and your top choose to match each other. Liquid starts to bubble out of you, and you can’t even bring yourself to look at him, as you feel yourself climax.</p><p>You can feel him staring at you, despite yourself, and you whimper pathetically, as he brings both his hands from you, and starts petting you behind the ear.</p><p>“Hey, wanna switch places?” </p><p>You let out a ragged breath, your image of him wobbly, as you can barely keep your eyes open. You shake your head vivaciously, as you hiccup, your lip practically busted with how hard you’ve managed to bite into it.</p><p>“No,”</p><p>You shiver, the room feeling too bright and hot for you to see or think. You shudder, as he brings a hand to your face, and wipes his thumb down your cheek. A soft pair of lips move on top of you, as you feel a rough thud of something below you.</p><p>You think if you weren’t already asleep, you would pass out from his brutality.</p><p>You both moan, as you feel his climax surge next. </p><p>He clutches tightly on to you, as you move your hand to his thigh, and bounce him as hard as you can bear. </p><p>You bite on his pec, and lose count of your numbers, as you both rut hopelessly against each other.</p><p>If temporals were timed, you’re not sure if you both existed for hours or for days. </p><p>You only know that it’s over when you’re snug against his chest, and nobody has it in them to move.</p><p>You hear his breath, more than you feel it, as you clutch desperately on to him. </p><p>You’re afraid to move.</p><p>“I wonder if I’m going to feel this in the morning.”</p><p>You don’t have it in you to answer him back, and just bury yourself deeper in his grasp.</p><p>You feel him trace his fingers across your shoulder and back.</p><p>“I left a lot of marks on you. I wonder if you’ll still keep them when you wake up.”</p><p>Your breath hitches inwardly, and you find your hands gripping him tighter.</p><p>You would rather be dead.</p><p>You want to remember everything about him. You want to remember his blue eyes. His dulcet moans. The way he breathes. The way he smells. </p><p>You want to remember he existed at all.</p><p>You’re terrified.</p><p>You feel so small.</p><p>“Hey,” </p><p>He whispers in that way that makes your ears buzz, and your heart start to thrum.</p><p>You feel yourself get pulled back, as salt envelops your nose and your mouth, you see eyes that look kinder than yours, from what you can tell, and hands that are softer than the day you were born.</p><p>“Close your eyes for a second, ok?”</p><p>You feel your throat clench up, but swallow your building saliva, and do as he asks.</p><p>You feel his lips, more than anything. His nose, that bumps into yours, as he twists your head up to encompass him. His fingers draw circles into your throat, as he continues tasting your lip, your mucus, your blood. If you had any more of yourself to give, you could probably come just from looking at his eyes.</p><p>You’re still hungry when you part your mouths, and you’re breathing irregularly when he says,</p><p>“Goodbye.”</p><p>
  <em> Crack. </em>
</p><p>Is the first thing you feel, as the sound comes second, and you almost want to scream—</p><p>Crack—is the feeling of your head thunking against something hard.</p><p>You open your eyes, but you can barely see anything. There’s a collection of dust, and a single window that doesn’t trail much light, as there’s hardly any room for the sun in a world so bleak. It’s dark, and  you haven’t managed to get the heater to work. Not like it matters, you’re not planning on staying here for that long.</p><p>You sit up, and wipe the dew from out your eyes, as your other hand mindlessly looks for the glasses you keep by the makeshift desk.</p><p>You cough, as your throat feels a little stuffy, and you’re alarmed to feel how damp your cheeks are, as you scrub negligently at your face.</p><p>Were you crying in your sleep?</p><p>Did you piss the sheets too, you fucking weirdo?</p><p>You adjust yourself, and feel down on the tussled blankets, but don’t feel—</p><p>They’re sticky.</p><p>That’s fucking disgusting.</p><p>You scowl, as you have to take the brunt of feces, and fucking piss, as you get up on shaky knees. Your equilibrium feels so off, you could use some water from the tap, or <em> something </em>. You hang on to the wall, leaving your dirty laundry behind you, as you kick off your pants, and any remains of your earlier mishaps.</p><p>You turn on the light to the bathroom, and are confronted with big ugly bruises dotting your neck to your chest, and even moving into your hip.</p><p>You blink, confused, as you move towards the mirror, and take a better look.</p><p>“<em> Jesus </em>,”</p><p>You breathe out, as a lingering sting follows the trails of your bandaged thumbs.</p><p>You don’t get what you’re looking at, as you try to think back on the last time you saw bug bites this bad, that make you almost look like you’re dying.</p><p>You don’t get what you’re looking at, when you feel tears stream down your eyes.</p><p>You don’t get it.</p><p>Maybe it’s time to start looking for a new place to live.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“John.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>John</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“JOHN!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus fucking Christ—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus fucking Christ</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“JOHN!!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>JOHN</b>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ten,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nine,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eight,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seven,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Six.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seven,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eight,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nine,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ten,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ten,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nine,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Six.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Five,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seven,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Five, four years you haven’t had to have any one to yell at you to knock it off. Cut the shit. Cut the crap. But there you go again. You trapezed right off the deep end. Good going numb nuts!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You can barely hear yourself think, as your head tries to carve out little hearts of Jerry x Ben, and Susie x Weiss, your patience x the snotty kid next door. Your body is somewhere between frigid, and ice </span>
  <em>
    <span>burning</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as you try to pull yourself together. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pull yourself together</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You feel like you’re choking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s probably your fault.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You groan, as you open your eyes, and realize you’re not where you’re supposed to be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You try to recall what you were doing—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Where are you?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This isn’t your bed…bed…bed…bed…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You were in your house, weren’t you?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The minute you try to think too loudly, your headache sears with earnest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bed…Bed…Bed…Bed…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Where was…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You draw up your hands, and look at how awful they look. Their tint isn’t your natural color, and you look like what vomit tastes like. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You don’t feel so good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You hear a raddling John..,.John…JOHN…</span>
  <span>JOHN</span>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>UGH.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You sit down on the floor, and hold your stomach, as you bring your head to your knees. You feel your heart try to palpitate out of your body, and you almost want to gag, you feel sick, you feel waves of confusion make you cross-eyed. You’re scared, you’re scared, you’re scared, you’re—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You ok there, buddy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You look up at the face of…a clean looking…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dave?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He isn’t your angel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know I said you could drop on one knee if you feel so privy on riding my dick, but I didn’t think you’d take it so literally.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moves down on your level, and folds his arms, as he tilts your head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you like, literally fuck off?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just trying to figure out if you’re dead or still kicking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You can’t even see his eyes, which is the part you find the weirdest. He has the same shades as he does, but they’re not as intricate. There are no cogs that move, there’s no blood stains that refuse to get cleaned off. He has a clean mouth, and a clean slick style, with a suit and tie that during any other time you would want to jack from him, and fight to wear with your friend.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he has the same cool voice, and that’s what’s really tripping you up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can turn it off, y’know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Turn what off?” You grunt, your teeth gritting as you feel the pressure building more in your head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop focusing on what’s up there. If you’re as dead as a doorknob, you’ll know the next time you try to fall asleep. Or the next time someone tries to assault you, for being the hottest piece of meat this side of Cincinnati.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You glare him down, hands trembling, as you try to focus on…focus on…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It stopped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your heart doesn’t feel as heavy, and you take a shuddering fresh breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Know any guys by the name as Sir Strides-A-Lot, or is this the first time meeting the big man himself?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dave?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bingo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gives a grin that’s oddly charming, and oddly snide. You don’t remember your Dave ever looking so confident. He’s about just as pale as the boy you know, but the red suit really brings out his flare, and his cockiness. You’re not sure if he’s a friend or just some Cheshire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though you should be able to trust your best friend right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your best friend.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t take much for you to start feeling like shit again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s get you up to speed with the hot and popping Welcome Committee. These are the people less likely to kill you during a zombie apocalypse, though for you,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You see him lift up his shades for a minute, and look you up and down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That probably isn’t a problem.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gets up, and turns around, as he walks with a collected stride, that you think your Dave would share, if his body wasn’t so clunky, and he wasn’t so tied down by life’s problem. He looks like the sort of people you would meet in Hollywood, you feel almost too self-conscious to pretend like you’ve ever known him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hollywood…Hollywood…You think that rings a bell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Also, you should try changing out of your dead dreads. You’ll scare the ladies, you know how fickle their damish hearts betroth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waves a hand in the air lackadaisically, as he puts another in his pocket. You suddenly feel even less confident in yourself, as you feel your arms and legs grow a normal color, and you hold your stomach awkwardly, as you walk to catch up with his pace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo, Ray-Ray, wakey-wakey, you’ve got a new ghoul to play ding-dong-ditch with!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s busy, Dave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A slender girl comes with a book in tow, and a sway in her hip, that makes you have to look at the floor, as you feel you shouldn’t look too directly at the blinding sun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, what the fuck. The hell sort of proclamations could she have on the first north star between Jupiter and me’s fucking asshole. Where the hell is she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Playing hooky. Our Lord and Savior English went destroying a new bubble, and she wanted to catch the sights before the light-show went off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I always knew she would ditch my money, my body, my puppy, for a cheap thrill at the peep show.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe if your pull-out game was stronger, you wouldn’t find yourself at the cool end’s slab, of a damsel’s pity, with the amount of attention, and validation that only a mother and load of cash could attend to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y’know what, Lalonde, if I wanted to hear a steaming pile of shit, I would turn my hot ass right around, and go splunking into no-man’s land, of my entire fucking asshole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You blink, feeling out of touch with your new surroundings. The guy, you feel you sort of may know, but the girl is perplexing. She’s very pretty. She looks about as attractive as he does. They’re saying a lot of things you can barely understand, but they both seem to be at step with each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You wonder if they like each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The girl combs her short light blonde hair back, looking on at the man in front of her, with an eye of boredom. She looks on at you, and you feel chills run up your spine, as your gaze goes back to the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s something interesting about her. Her face is beautiful, but takes on a sort of feline charm, that makes you feel an odd sense of foreboding. You recall how weirdly odd Dave looks, so you wonder if the girl is just an oddly normal looking…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rose, come on. Stop gawking at the new guy in town, like he’s the next hot daddy your issues never once did see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your tongue seems to be sleeping, along with your fingers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck does that even mean, you vile wench.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Three fingers pointed at every one you cast.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That sounds like some hocus pocusy bullshit, but this isn’t Disney Channel, and I don’t see a single hot redhead among my vicinity.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it the teeth?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s most definitely, the fucking teeth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She catches you staring at her, and gives you a wink that makes your face feel like it’ll break out. You move your attention, though you’re a little jealous, if you’re being honest. You forgot how Rose used to act. She did used to be this wordy. She was this oddly cagey, and kept up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This all sort of just reminds you of how much you could have had, if you weren’t stuck being so much like…</span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You feel it’s better to leave them to it. If you accidentally catch another “friend” of yours, you might have to find yourself at the other side of a revolver. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Or a bath tub.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huh?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What a weird a thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Careful, Dave. You’re newly acclaimed prize, just slipped right back into it’s pond.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh—aw, what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought your motto was, fuck them to death, not bore them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Man, we were going to have some times. There was going to be bottles, and toilet paper. I had plans on plans inside a burrito packed bag of stupid hijinks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And then you slipped in the dick?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More like I slipped on the dick, hey Rose, what kind of terrifying set of perimeters do you think it takes to turn boy dork skylark into a fucking cock parade?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“However long the circumference between you hitting the ripe age of thirteen, and the length of the scream once learning what your brother does on camera with the sex puppets.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was low, man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My apologies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You keep your gaze on the ground, as you feel oddly like a needle in a hay stack. You feel people leering at you, and the stares make you pick up your pace, as you don’t bother to look at anyone in particular. You step on rock, and then sand, as you feel almost like running, but would rather not stand out any more than you evidently do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that John??”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think my bulge is gonna fucking break.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need an adult.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You turn your heel, on a set of bodies, that are starting to freak you out. You sort of wish you had stayed back with Dave and Not Rose, but you’re too bitterly lost to turn back around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You’re also kind of scared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“HEY, HOT BOY. Anata wa tsuno de osuushi o ubatta koto wa arimasu ka?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You glance at the girl for five seconds, before a set of chills runs down your spines. She’s a freak like the rest of your home, you’re clearly not safe anywhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“YO, stop speakin ching-chong at the new short-fry. I wanna fork him before the rest of you clams get the beta of him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I heard that John Egbert had an eight pack. I heard that he was ripped.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy smokes,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A dude steps in front of you. He’s as tall, as he is ugly. Grey skin marks him up and down, with orange sharp looking horns that protrude out of his skull. His eyes are just as odd a color, and he looks like he has a mouth made fit for a shark.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You back up, reflexively moving to grab a weapon you don’t have.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry Chief, did I scare ya?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes the cigar out of his mouth, as he pockets it in the back of his slacks. He stares really hard at you, and gives you a onceover that makes you more agitated than flattered. You clench your teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You new around here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You purse your lips, as you furrow your brow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not the talkative type, huh? Real loner, like a tall dark and handsome?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He steps closer, and you step back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cronus, leave the poor dude alone! He’s clearly not into you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Chīsana otokonoko, doro no naka de asonde wa ikenai. Hontō no koibito o shitaidesu ka? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yarenaika</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just being friendly, showing him around. More than just the jaw dropping, and tongue waggling the lot of you are doing—hey, wait kid. Where you going?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You’re half way out of hell, when he stops you dead in your tracks, and you scowl at the fact that this dude is still trying to talk to you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could get lost out here, y’know. Need a buddy? A pal? A dude-honcho?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Leave him </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Cro!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quit your flabber jabbering, I’m just making polite conversation. Ain’t that right, Chief?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He brings a hand to your shoulder, and you jerk him away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck off</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hoo—ey, you sure you ain’t a Jade blood, Chief? Spicy and hot, I’m sure the two of us could have a lot of fun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dude, you’re such a prick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“(I wonder if John Egbert ever mauled a bear. I wonder if he fucked him.)”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why the fuck do I even hang out with you assholes, I don’t even go here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to sea if he fights him. I’m betaing my money on scruffs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s like betting your money on a bull with a lame horse, what the fuck type sort of arena is that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“(Do you think he fucked a bull too? Is it true what they say about red bulls? Can I have wings too?)”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what, I’m done here. Call me when you guys stop slobbering your brains out on the pavement. I wonder if KK has any shit romcoms leftover.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You try to pick up speed, but the asshole is riding your ass like you’re on the freeway. He cuts in front of you again, and you fail to not bring a knife out behind your back, as you wait for him to shove the hell off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen! I just think we got off on the wrong foot, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mhm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How’s about you say we go on a—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You get blindsighted by a flash of purple, that knocks the other dude out of your vision. You drop your hand, as you see a much shorter lookalike of him, rub at his hair. Puffing out like a blowfish, as he scoffs playfully at the other dude.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wow</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>well would</span>
  </em>
  <span> you look at the time. It’s not dick-a-clock. Hey captain, how’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>weather</span>
  </em>
  <span> down there?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck, man?? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You’re cramping my style!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, those duds were </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> last sweep, you can’t blame that train wreck on me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turns to face you, and you park your feet on the soil, as you try to grab for the thing on the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey dude, want to go for a walk? Yeah, I thought so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabs your hand forward, and man handles your fucking patience. You grunt, as the amount of force he has unnerves you, he’s not even bigger than you are, but somehow you’re getting tugged around like a literal child. What is with all of these alien fuck-jockeys trying to touch you?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You jerk away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, pal. I ain’t trying to mack on you. I know you’re hot stuff, but I needed to get you away from tweedled-dee and little dick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can take care of myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d been watching you for the past half hour, and you looked about as scared as a two left-feet, brain damaged duck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not scared, leave me alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This place makes about as much sense as a jigsaw puzzle, listen—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He picks up speed, but keeps a reasonable distance from you, which you acknowledge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could use a friend when you’re surrounded by a pack of wolves, and a terrain that makes about as much sense as my lusus.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You stop, frowning to yourself, as you rub at a growing headache.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t know these neck of the woods the way I do. Some of the creatures are nice and chipper, but a lot of them just want to take a bite out of your grandma’s goodies. Take my advice. Don’t sleep with anybody here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wasn’t planning on it.” You grumble. You sigh out loud, as you release your earlier hang ups, and look on at the dude who you guess just saved your life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks for earlier. Sorry, I was rude.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, keep your sweet send-off’s to yourself. All the pigs out here are disgustin, and I’m just a recoverin addict, trying to not fall face first back into the mud.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“(Is this the boded Ampora redemption arc, we all thought would get written out?)”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“IF ANY OF YOU CLOWNS HAVE SOMETHIN TO SAY, MY EARS ARE RIGHT OPEN. MY FISTS ARE ALSO WAITING ON SOME MUSTARD BLOODS, THAT ARE AWAITIN A KNUCKLE SANDWICH.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“(Pffahahahahaha.)”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You see your guide scowl at one of the weird creatures behind you, that you’d failed to notice, as he </span>
  <em>
    <span>nyeh’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> menacingly as a large flowing cape almost waps you in the face, once he turns back around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You take a good look at the dude, he’s almost your height, and he has a fast stride that you can get behind. He has a weird superior air to him, like he has nothing and a lot to prove all at once. He doesn’t seem as scary the more you look at him, but he does seem like someone who could probably put up a decent fight if asked on it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks somewhere between a mix of a badass action hero, and a super villain. He’s also kind of pretty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The scenery shifts and changes, but the people stay much the same.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Phwoar.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hold up, Lalonde. Who’s the new cutie with the booty?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, hell no. I call dibz, I saw him first Di-stri!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You goons go on ahead, I think my ol’ willy got the scares just looking at him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not…Who I think it is, is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“YOOOOOO, WAIT IS THAT JOHN? HEY—HEY CUTIE, HEY—FUCKING MOVE DIRK.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh-uh. You’ve been hogging the cute guys for too long, I’m sick of your shit Ro-Lal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He looks kind of mean…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I acknowledge I got a problem. That only cute young grandpops can satisfy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rawr</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guy in front of you just groans, and moves on ahead at a quicker pace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re like a stop light, y’know that? You ever consider turning the hot shit, off?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just a dude.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I’m just five minutes away from being swept up by troll Robert Patterson. You look about as bad as I could throw you, which is to say, I could probably hardly throw you at all with these limp sad sack excuses for noodles.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You rub at your arm, feeling a bit self-conscious again, as you wonder if there is a way to ‘turn it off.’ You guess you could always try and change your appearance…The only other dude you know looks kind of attractive too though, both of you kind of stick out like a sore thumb.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You look up at the sky, and see a person who looks like you, talking with another of those grey skinned creatures. You think about it really hard, before you feel your line of gravity change a bit. The dude in front of you starts chattering, and turns his head mid-sentence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, anyway buddy, I recognize I never got to all in introducing myself. The name’s Eridan Ampora and—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks you up and down, as he admires your handiwork.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm, that’ll do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> You tug at the blue scarf sitting on your face, and feel a little bit weirded out. Your clothes sit a lot clunkier on your build, but as you continue passing a bunch of different faces, the change is a lot more noticeable. A lot less people even look your direction, and the one’s that do, just smile and wave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey John!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s been a lot of em’ running around lately, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did anyone catch a pic of that hot one, I think he’s become like the new sasquatch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“(Maybe he tripped and fell on an axe body spray. Maybe he got fucking shredded.)”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aww, what? You clowns scared the poor sucker off! I didn’t even get to catch an autograph, he seemed like the coolest chump out here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did I miss anything relevant?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo, Porrim. Girl, you missed a hot one while you were out over there dealing with tights to nipples. But Cro of course scared the pour sucka off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God fucking damn it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, tulips caught a picture of him!!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hehehehehe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God FUCKING </span>
  <em>
    <span>dammit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You hear chainsaw noises rev up, as thing one and thing two look about off to go murder someone. You guess some of them are ok, in your book. You turn back to face the guy right in front of you, and mull over the subtle similarities between you two. You guess whatever they are, are fairly close to you. He’s not that weird, so you suppose there </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> trustworthy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, what are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Besides surrounded by imbecilic bottom feeders? Dead, inside and out, next question.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You laugh a bit, enjoying the bite of this guy. He gets cooler and cooler the longer you two are together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re referring to the fact that you’re a fuckin racist scoundrel, then the term you’re looking for is ‘troll.’”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A troll, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You look around to the busy bodies, not paying much attention to you, besides a subtle wave from them every so often, that you return a bit shyly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Guess you didn’t get to have a grand stopping death, the size of the depravity of hormones on a bloody fuckin teenager. I ain’t gonna ask what type of action lifestyle you lead, because I ain’t fuckin rude, and I’m not as nosy as the lot of these dribbling scrubs,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You look at his cape flowing like a red laser with a cat, and you catch yourself trying to stomp on it, whenever it gets in your walking line.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But if you ever feel your lips want to go soarin, there ain’t a better guy in this load gaper to unload your dirty laundry to, because when it comes to fraternity gossip, Eridan Ampora is simply the best there is—HEY.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You stop, holding back a giggle, as you feel him tug his cape back in defense to your actions, while giving you the meanest stink-eye you ever did see.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“HMPH. This is the thanks I get for savin your spinly hide. All of ya, are the same. Doesn’t matter if there’s muscle tone or not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bodies seem to dissipate the longer you two go on about your business, a troll flying above you every so often, but for the most part, it’s as grey and bleak as it always is. Not much in way for sun, or whatever few reminders of the thing that lasts. You see him sigh, as he relaxes, his clothes changing from less haughty to more relaxed and casual and kind of…normal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And thus ends our big show, or whateva the dream bubbles would have it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wears a lone scarf, that’s a duller brown than the bright striped purple he had on earlier, as he just sighs, waving his hand around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t suppose you be needin anymore favors. No one will bother you out here. If you ever need me, just scream ‘Sollux is keelin over and cripplin’ and I’ll scream, ‘Where?!’ Don’t need me, more importantly, don’t lie to me. I’ve been lied to by pretty faces before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You chuckle lightly, as he walks off, with a limp half wave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See-ya later fish bait.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You wave him off, as he walks off to whatever direction you came from. Your hand stills as he gets far enough that you can’t see his image anymore, and you lower it to your chest. There’s an oddy giddy feeling at the pit of your stomach, and you’re not sure where something like that could have been hiding, but you smile. Thinking about your new friend Eridan. Dave…Rose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That Sollux guy. He was pretty funny too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trolls, </span>
  <em>
    <span>huh? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why is the world always full of so many weird surprises?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did the right thing ED.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I couldn’t do it, man. I felt practically like a pedophile ogling him up in his blue jimmies, and I still could barely keep it in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come here, brother. Bring it in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s hard being a good man Sol. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>nobody</span>
  </em>
  <span> understands.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You’ve been switching back and forth, between two skins for the past while. You don’t remember being a child much. You know you were one, but it’s odd to see yourself so cute. With such a round hopeful face, with such deep blue ocean eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ocean eyes that remind you of him…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You tap your hand under a pond filled with gold fish, as you add a few reminiscent features of him. You wonder if he’d mind, if you stole a few of his freckles. You don’t need all of them, just a few.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The goldfish scurry away from you all of a sudden, and you glance up from your pond, when you hear distant footsteps come towards you. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Salt water clings to your fingers, as you see the small waves that run up and down your own nerves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A tall look-a-like stands inches in front of you, as you feel your lips dry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“John?” He perks up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your breath doesn’t know how to regulate, as it stops itself dead in it’s tracks. You’re still in every place, but the one that matters. Water hits the edge of your leg, as you feel yourself jet ten feet in a blink of an eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oof--!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You topple over him accidentally, and hear a loud crunch, as you both laugh and whine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ow…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He giggles underneath you, and wraps his arms around your back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss me, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His smile is about as teethy as you feel. You’re warm, and are still running as far as your body’s concerned. You want to kick and scream, but he’s right here. He’s right here!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You squeeze him a greeting, as you weakly mumble, “Hi.” Your face making contact with all of the places that make you fuzzy, a throb from your chest aching where you two touch, and how in sync you feel. And it never feels grey when he’s here, you feel as light as his eyes, and about just as caged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You want to kiss him, so you do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He giggles again, and moves to give you just as bright a kiss as you’d given him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your heart doesn’t stop yammering on about all the things you have done, all the people you’ve seen, all the lives that you’ve lived. But you want him a part of your scrapbook. You want him to be embedded in the pages, with sticky pink fingers, and you wish you could bring him. You wish you could bring him in to your world, the way he’s brought you into his.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You just realize how selfish that sounds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You really want to be around him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even as it is now, it almost feels unbearable how distant you two are, and you’re chest to chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your stomach bubbles like the lunch you would have had, had it not been that…You didn’t eat. Not here, barely up there,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>barely up…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your shoulders draw into a sad downcast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Barely up there, huh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Something up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He mumbles against your cheek, as his large blue eyes crinkle in discernment. It only really occurs to you how long his eye lashes are, as they frame his curiosity. You even see one of them having fallen on his cheek, and have an urge to scrape at it, but his eyes are drawn too closely to yours.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You glance down to look at the hairs on your arm, as you try to swallow the growing anxiety in your stomach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, uh…” You look at him, and then down to the ground, as you try not to stutter or sound like a blithering idiot. “I might have done something stupid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like what?” He props his head up, shifting his position as he keeps his eyes focused on you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You feel sheepish. Sheepish and foolish, as your mind goes as quiet as your breathing. You don’t really know what to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After seconds of faltering, you lick your lips, and lean in,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I think I might have went to sleep without thinking up my underwear</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chuckles airly, breathing his warm mint breath into your face, and nudges at you. Your knees buck into each other, as you feel him get childishly excited. You get into a stupid fist war, before he ends up rolling you over on to your back, and laying proudly on top of you like a kid on a rollercoaster.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Since I’m up here, should I check?” His arms start moving down your sides, and you jerk your hip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You laugh out, stupidly. Your hands move to grab at his, but it doesn’t fend him off well enough to cease him from putting his freakishly cold fingers up your shirt. You squawk and he just laughs at you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You kick your legs, and try to wrangle yourself into the victor, as he puts up the weakest fight against you, you’ve ever seen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your belt hits his, as you lock your knees around his side. You feel smug, hands grasping his black shirt that has an odd decal on it that you’ve never heard of. You wonder where he got, where he bought it or stole it from.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You ponder this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I missed you,” He says, stopping after a while with a giggle. “It’s boring out here, all on my own. No one ever does anything fun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeesh…” You breathe out. Hands meeting your temples as you rub your forehead. “So what are all those...people out there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are trolls?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh! You met some?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” You re-iterate. Hands scratching at your hair as you gaze out into the abyss where there are plenty of the people playing and dicking around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where they nice to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They oggled me like dogs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scrunches his face, and gets this cute look on him. He looks like a baby that just ate something weird off the floor, and it gets you to want to just kiss him till he looks away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So you do, you give him a peck on the lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You still remember?” You ask him, tilting your head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Remember what?” He replies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That we’re boyfriends.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You’re greeted then with a smile, and he kisses you back.  But twice as hard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room stands still on itself, as your mouths are the things that are met. You kiss like kids underneath a starlet blue, and nothing can take you away from this moment. Absolutely everything is gorgeous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>JOHN.</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You shiver-- your name resounding in the back of your head, and your earlier anxiety shaking you. You feel your face color blue again, and it throws the smile off your other as he looks on to you, but with wary. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“John? You ok?” He tugs on your hands, and swings both your arms together. “John?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok--” You almost bite your tongue as you feel a migraine come in. “HCk, yeah. yeah. yeah. yeah, I’m fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You hold your head and crouch down on the floor, fully illustrating how ‘fine’ you really are.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He says in concern, as he kneels down by you and crouches down enough to give you a hug. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit.” You whisper to yourself, as you face fuck your palm to your fucking temple.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s going on, huh?” He talks in quiet, and mimics your tone as he rubs your head. Up, and down. Up and down. The movements comforting more than it’s soothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I... “ You start. But stammer, as there’s nothing much for you to say. You’re worried, about telling him what went down. Besides the fact that the memory is slipping away from you the longer time goes on…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” He holds your face cupped in both his hands as he looks straight at you. “Just focus here, ok. I’m sure I must have something for you in my bag.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your bag...What…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The surroundings go from the weirded outskirts of other reminiscent bubbles to that of a house and a yard. Ah, you remember this. This is where you had the picnic!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s see what we have in here,” He says, while going through his newly found bag. He shuffles his hands inside it for a while, before coming back out with some sort of meds. “This should do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are those?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Try em, and find out!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He puts the pills right in your hand, and gives you some water. He then scoots a little back to give you some space. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You’re not sure why, but maybe it’s cause you might throw up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You proceed to take the pills.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How are they?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just took them!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, you forget this is a dream and you can just make things work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m kind of low on tolerance right now,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeesh…!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You pet your head, and rock back and forth trying to concentrate on the pills, you guess. You’re not sure how anything works in this medium. It completely escapes your grasp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your boa, though, he seems to be like a wizard at this!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Doing magic out here is like reading latin to you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s starting…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You sweat a little from your brow, as you might be concentrating a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> hard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Easy, easy,” His face turns skittish, and he moves his hands to your shoulders. “Don’t do that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry…” You mumble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You just keep your head in your knees, and let time pass for an inscrutable amount of minutes. Hours. Maybe days for all you care. Your function with time is pretty par the course, which is to say, dunderfucking outside your proverbal reference of units.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You groan, sweat still masking your face from all the way down here. You wish you had something magical, like pills to make yourself feel better or something. Gee, what a thought!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not feeling any better?” John says from across from you. At least from what you hear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mhn…” You just whine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come here,” He says, beckoning you. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You raise your head, and see his arms outstretched. Like a mom, he has his hands raised, and ready for you at any time. You feel so safe here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You waddle over to him, and he does one better, and puts your head at his legs. He proceeds to rub your hair back on his lap, and courses his fingers down long strokes of your head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Poor thing…” He mumbles. Parting your hair with each movement from his wrist, his hands delicate to your touch. He feels so earnest when he touches you, it’s hard to say what you are to him other than in love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This feels so much better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You stay like that for a while. His hands on you, and yours just curled against your waist. You hold yourself like a child in waiting, but your headache starts to go away very quickly. In a matter of seconds, it’s like nothing was going wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it was the pills too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I overdosed,” Is how you start, biting your lip a little as you try to mull over the details. “I wanted to at least get it out the way, just so you wouldn’t have to ask.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were drinking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More than that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh…” He says sort of distantly, like he’s thinking deeply within himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry. I know it’s reckless..”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At least we got to see each other.” He perks up, not holding you to your earlier problems.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah… I  could probably overdose a few times just to be right here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He swats at you, and you laugh. Humming to yourself, as you feel brighter and happier the more that time passes. Your head less clouded, but your judgement moreso.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should be more careful...Or at least, that’s what I should say. I’m kind of a hypocrite, myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do…” He nods out his words. “like you. Things like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah.” You blink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Frequently…” His voice starts to dribble. Words unfocused, as his head droops. He rubs his hair back, as he continues on to himself. “Ugh. We should talk about something else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t know that about you.” You chirp out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well…” You pause, looking between you and yourself. You and him, you mean. The world feels a lot more dense than you last looked at. ”What’s your favorite color?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh?” He iterates.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mine’s black.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pauses again with a start, “...Red.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See? We match.” You laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He seems a lot less stressed than he started, and it makes you smile when you see his corners rise. Even just a smidge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You take your pinky out, and curl down the rest of your fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll stop if you stop.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares at you and your hand for a moment, before doing the same thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Deal.” He smiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You do the same.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what were they saying?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One of them spoke in Japanese about how they wanted to fellate my ass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hahahahaha.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You’re talking about the trolls now to John, about how they all were skeevily trying to come on to you. Not once in your life had you ever dealt with something like that. Not once. You doubt yourself you’d ever be considered attractive. You had about the self esteem of a dirt covered rat, but then it all just swarmed at you like all of a sudden. There was no sane way on how to handle it!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John’s just there cracking a gut at your expense about the whole ordeal. He hasn’t stopped laughing since you mentioned the ‘troll’ with the cigarette that he calls ‘Cronus’ as he starts to mention some of his escapades with the ‘gang.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s pretty normal, especially for those neck of the woods. Cronus, the one with the cigar used to chirp at me a few times as I was busy trying to get away. They called me solidary, but it was easy with friends like these.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I used to think that too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That you seemed lonely.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stops laughing for a second, to turn to you. His face is low, but there’s still an edge of a smile there, despite himself you presume.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was a little. All those weird trolls, my best friends actually speaking to me. My life...Was so much more complicated than most of these nuts. I didn’t have it in me to hangout with anyone...Until I met you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You smile back. The both of you sharing a weird singular moment. A gust of air blew into the room, as you felt trepid and lost in his face. You would almost blush if you thought of it, but the moment was quaint enough for you to not think about much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My life is fairly complicated, too.” You say sympathetically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess if you’re always steam-rolling monsters.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not just that.” You start to think to yourself on how you want to word things. But your number one goal is to not scare him away. “I don’t trust people well, I feel a little bit crazy half the time, and I’m always a touch out of place.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow,” His face mulls over in a bit of shock. “That sounds exactly like me. Do you know how many odd looks people give me, when I’m on the street, or just walking doing nothing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I feel so, out of touch,” He continues. “Misplaces. Misunderstood. I don’t know what else to say, other than I’m not the guy people think of. I’m my own man, with my own set of quirks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” You chime.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just wish this world wasn’t so one-sighted. That people were a little bit bigger, and less small minded. I dunno, do you ever get like that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. All the time, actually.” You say trying not to nod off. You feel so light, you feel so content.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m a man who wants to explore. That wants to try things out. That wants to do--a lot of things to be honest. When I think about how idiocentric most people are, I get annoyed. So I do little things to rebel, like dye my hair, or paint my nails.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I get you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A lot actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...” He smiles in a gentle, almost thankful sort of way. His eyes careen like a river, and he seems almost stuck in a portrait, as he babbles on nervously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, you don’t think I’m weird…? At all?” He says this lightly. He touches his own hair in a way you could only describe as beautiful. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You do the one thing you think of, and kiss him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s faint on your end, just a small peck that makes you feel wistful. Wistful of a youth you never had, and antiquated in it’s form. You feel washed over. Like you were laying on a beach, and the tides ran through you. Ran through your body, your hair, your thoughts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He returns the kiss, and he reads you in a way a writer only wished to dream. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You’re just so happy being here. Happy sitting cross-legged on the grass with a boy half as charming. You would never think about it, but the amount of space he takes up in conjunction to that of which he doesn’t sends you into fits. What you mean is, you guess you never saw a man that fit you as snuggly as a glove.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You wouldn’t know what to think if you ever were brought with the opportunity to remeet again, other than that you’d be lucky.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You are lucky.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In your thoughts, he is a king, and you feel like a mere pauper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Plus, you’ve never actually ever had a boyfriend before...So he’d be your first. Your first kiss, your first love. In sad ways, the first person to ever give you a really good hug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dave never once…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s better not to think about him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He notices your mood’s pitfall, as John puts a hand on your shoulder with a glance of worry on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You ok?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You nod to him, putting a hand over his on your shoulder, as you just sigh in dismal. You close your eyes, and dream of a world much easier.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes you by surprise when your thoughts actually mess with the landscape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You blink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are we going?” He asks in that way that says he’s playing mysterious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno...I just...Wanted to think of some place peaceful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like a beach?” He says, while imagining a place near the shores as your butt fits comfortably against the tides.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess.” Your mood ranges to a place more ‘hilly’ with a lot of green in it, and mountains. It looks about as wonderful as a Hallmark card.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This reminds me of an old movie my dad and I used to watch…” He mumbles to himself, as the wide scenescape bends and flows from around you. “Little House on the Prairie I think it was? I dunno, that might not have been a movie…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I miss the little things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like watching movies, and reading books. Playing games, being a kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. I do too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The clouds move artfully around you like fish in a vast large sea. Fields blow is rows, one-two-three, moving crisp against the blue sky and the bright gold sun. It brings you into it’s soft tranquil, lulling you nearly into a sanctity of sleep. Light shines through the sky, as it peeps between your eyes, and your skin. Your lips kissed by the nutrients that the air has to offer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You’re happy. Really happy. It’s like you got a full faced massage and are now just sunbathing underneath the trepid blue. You could almost die like this, at least in your thoughts. You feel privvy to something words don’t remember. World’s a part from all the pain you’re used to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And maybe you would just die. Die in this spot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You mouth the words, “John,” Before your body reels itself awake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You wake up, and you’re hurdled in dark. Grey. And black.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And cries of your name come out the one person you never thought you would see.</span>
</p>
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